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Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 5: I Fell into 15th-Century Europe (5)

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In fifteenth-century Europe, a massive religious war shook the mighty Holy Roman Empire from within.

The Hussite Wars.

To understand the origin of that name, one must first explain Jan Hus, the revered theologian of the Kingdom of Bohemia.

At the time, the Church's corruption had reached its height. Even salvation after death was sold in the form of indulgences.

Unable to tolerate it any longer, Jan Hus raised his voice. Put into modern terms, his argument went something like this.

‘Fuck the Pope! Fuck the Emperor! Fuck the papacy, the priests, all of them! Instead of corrupt Catholicism, we'll believe in and follow only the word of the Bible!’

...Of course, a respected theologian could never have used such vulgar language. Still, the social impact of his teachings was roughly comparable.

In Europe at the time, the Bible was a sacred and inviolable realm accessible only through priests, God's representatives. To the masses who knew no Latin, whatever a priest told them was the truth.

And Jan Hus struck at exactly that point.

‘How can we trust that corrupt pope and those priests? Let us bypass them and hear the Lord's word for ourselves!’

He translated the Latin Bible, once monopolized by a handful of priests, into Czech and argued that everyone should be able to read it.

Put simply, he wanted to eliminate popes and priests as middlemen and deal directly with God through the Bible alone.

Jan Hus took it a step further, eventually making even such extreme claims as these.

‘Those Catholic clergymen are nothing but piles of shit who hoard wealth, guzzle wine, and sire bastards. It is only right that all their property be seized and returned to society!’

By then, the papacy's patience had run out. Clutching their necks in outrage, they declared Jan Hus and all his followers heretics.

Fortunately(?) for him, the Church was busy with an even greater disaster at the time. It was called the Western Schism.

No fewer than three cardinals, each scarcely qualified for the role, had risen up claiming they would become pope. It was a complete mess.

The three popes, having achieved the true Trinity, were too busy tearing at each other's hair to care about a few heretics in Bohemia.

The people watching that mud fight grew even colder, and as distrust of Catholicism deepened, Jan Hus's teachings spread like wildfire.

By the time Sigismund, King of Hungary, and Cardinal Odo Colonna, later Pope Martin V, stepped in to unite the Church and deal with the heresy, all of Bohemia had already become deeply intoxicated by Jan Hus's ideas.

At last, Sigismund sent Jan Hus a letter himself.

‘You've got a lot to say, don't you? We're all gathering to choose a pope anyway, so come and speak your mind. I'll guarantee your safety in my own name.’

That was the invitation to the Council of Constance.

Jan Hus knew the papacy was desperate to kill him, but he thought, ‘Surely nothing will happen if the king himself has guaranteed my safety?’ In the end, he set out for Constance.

That “surely” got him killed. The moment Jan Hus arrived in Constance, he was arrested and sent to the stake for heresy.

A king's promise should weigh more than gold. It was a cowardly lie that his great father, Charles IV, would have wept over in his grave.

Enraged by this petty betrayal, the people of Bohemia rose up and called themselves the Hussites.

That was the beginning of the Hussite Wars.

As if that were not enough, Wenceslaus IV, the “Incompetent King,” who was King of Bohemia and Sigismund's older brother, heard that a rebellion had broken out in his own lands and promptly clutched his neck and died.

The greater problem was that the Incompetent King had no heir.

The throne of Bohemia would automatically pass to his younger brother, Sigismund, Holy Roman Emperor and the man chiefly responsible for sending Jan Hus to his death.

The Hussites could not recognize the lying king who had burned their martyr at the stake, and their resistance only grew fiercer.

In response, Sigismund joined hands with Pope Martin V and began raising crusaders throughout the Empire to subdue the Hussites.

On one side stood a ragtag peasant army that had risen in anger alone. On the other stood the Empire's elite knightly orders, united by faith and loyalty.

To anyone, the outcome seemed obvious. The crown of Bohemia appeared destined to fall smoothly into Sigismund's hands.

Yet it is in troubled times that heroes emerge.

A peerless strategist emerged like a comet and overturned the course of a war everyone believed was already over.

He was the war hero called the Czech Yi Sun-sin.

One-eyed Jan Žižka.

* * *

“Ura!”

“Ura! Jan Žižka!”

“Žižka! Žižka!”

The Hussite camp boiled with the thrill of victory.

Around the campfires, soldiers beat on stolen beer barrels and sang, while others greedily tore into meat for the first time in days.

Not long ago, they had gloriously crushed the crusaders' charge at Vyšehrad.

At the center of it all had been their great leader, Jan Žižka.

The soldiers gave fervent cheers to their one-eyed general. Yet the man who should have received them was nowhere near the soldiers.

Žižka stood apart from the noisy camp in his tent, quietly studying a map.

“Hmm...”

Even now, countless variables of war continued to unfold in Žižka's mind.

Then a scout covered in dust entered the tent and dropped to one knee.

“General, news has arrived from Kuttenberg.”

“Speak.”

“Sigismund has finally moved. He has left Kuttenberg with his remaining forces and begun retreating to Hungary through Moravia.”

Žižka nodded without a word. His single eye flashed coldly.

‘At last, Sigismund has tucked his tail and run. But he won't give up like this. Before long, he'll surely organize a second crusade and invade this land again.’

That meant now, while the greatest external threat was gone, was the only chance to pull out the thorns embedded within Bohemia.

Parasites still squirmed throughout the snake's body. He could not leave the Catholic loyalists who served the king alone.

His eyes moved over the pieces laid on the map of Bohemia.

Plzeň. Kuttenberg. Český Krumlov...

His rough finger passed over the names of regions held by the Imperial faction whose throats had not yet been cut, then stopped at one point.

“Sternberg...”

As Žižka murmured the name, the adjutant at his side immediately reported.

“Sternberg might as well be empty at present. Its lord was killed at the Battle of Vyšehrad, and the family's main force was wiped out with him.”

“Who is defending the castle now?”

“The lord has a young son named Ulrich, but... he's a green boy with no battle experience. At most, there should only be a few dozen routed soldiers left in the castle.”

A cruel smile appeared on Žižka's lips.

“An old castle defended by nothing more than a green boy. It will make the perfect example for those corrupt Catholic bastards.”

He flicked the Sternberg piece on the map with his finger, as if brushing away an annoying insect.

“Tell our Hussite brothers to take a thousand men and clear out that castle. Hang the young lord's head from the walls, and turn the place into our forward base.”

“Yes, General Žižka!”

* * *

For several days now, strange work had been in full swing at Sternberg Castle.

At the young lord's command, potters fired jars day and night, while the kitchen servants tried to squeeze every last drop of fat from salted meat.

Everyone groaned with anxiety that they were ruining their only emergency food supply for the coming siege, but the lord's resolve was firm.

And in one corner of the courtyard...

“Cough, cough! Hack!”

János Hunyadi kept coughing at the harsh alcohol fumes rising from the still.

‘What on earth does my lord intend to use this for? All this strong liquor... He can't be planning to drink it. Is he going to disinfect the soldiers' wounds with it? No, there's far too much for that.’

János's lord had become a completely different person over the past few days.

His incomplete memory after his riding accident was one thing, but his behavior since the day he heard of his father's death could only be described as bizarre.

He had mobilized everyone in the castle to make fragile jars, ruin valuable meat to extract its fat, and boil perfectly good wine into strong liquor.

As a result, all manner of ominous rumors now circulated through the castle. Some said the new lord had gone mad, while others claimed he had made a pact with the devil and was using forbidden sorcery.

Although Konrad, the chamberlain, and Kuno von Friedenberg, the commander of the knights, found and severely punished those spreading the rumors, the unease, once sown, did not easily subside.

At last, János distilled even the final drop of wine. Then he loaded the barrel of distilled liquor onto a cart and headed for Ulrich's private workshop.

Once an old stable, the place had become the lord's laboratory, filled with all sorts of strange materials.

“My lord, I brought the distilled liquor as you ordered.”

“Good work. Put it down there.”

Ulrich silently stirred Pine resin and animal fat in a large cauldron. Inside, a black, sticky liquid bubbled and made an ominous sound.

It was far from the dignified image of a lord. If anything, he looked more like an old alchemist or wizard brewing a forbidden elixir.

“...”

János was confused. The Ulrich he knew had never shown the slightest interest in alchemy.

At last, János cautiously spoke.

“My lord, that fire that won't go out you mentioned before... how exactly are you planning to make it?”

Ulrich stopped stirring.

“Why? Curious?”

“To be honest, it's driving me mad. Everything you do defies common sense.”

When János confessed his thoughts, a deep smile appeared on Ulrich's lips.

“You came at the right time. Seeing it with your own eyes is faster than explaining it a hundred times.”

“What? Seeing it myself?”

Ulrich nodded, then pointed at the materials beside the cauldron.

A huge sack of powdered Pine resin, a barrel filled with oil, and the barrel of strong distilled liquor János had just brought.

“Watch closely. This is very precise work. If the ratio is even slightly off, it will fail.”

Ulrich first judged the amount of melted Pine resin and lard boiling in the cauldron by eye.

“Lard is the fuel. Once it catches fire, it burns at a high temperature for a long time. But oil by itself is too thin, so it won't stick well to walls or armor. That's why we mix in Pine resin. When oil and Pine resin are mixed to increase the viscosity, it turns into a sticky jelly.”

His gaze moved to the barrel of distilled liquor János had brought.

“And the distilled liquor you brought. Its low flash point means it catches fire easily. It will act as an igniter and as a catalyst that dramatically increases the burning speed of the entire mixture.”

“Uh... what did you say?”

Unfortunately, János could not understand a single word his lord had said.

Ulrich laughed lightly.

“Well, just watch.”

Soon, Ulrich carefully began mixing Pine resin, lard, and alcohol in the large cauldron at a ratio of 2:2:1.

Bubble, bubble...

As the three substances mixed, the liquid in the cauldron turned an unpleasant black and thickened like jelly.

“Urgh!”

János instinctively covered his nose. A foul stench filled the entire stable.

Unbothered, Ulrich picked up one of the thin ceramic jars piled beside him. Using a funnel, he carefully filled it with the black liquid.

Once the jar was about seventy percent full, he tightly sealed its mouth with a thick piece of cloth soaked in oil.

“There. It's finished.”

Ulrich held up the completed jar. It looked ordinary, but what it contained was anything but.

“What is that, my lord?”

“Napalm.”

“Na... what?”

Ulrich grinned.

“Something that'll turn their wagons into coffins.”

Footnotes:

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